


Make a decision, angel.

by Suvroc (cuteandillusion)



Series: Harrowing of Hell [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale and Crowley Have Their Picnic (Good Omens), Banter, Beach Holidays, Day At The Beach, Fluff and Humor, Kissing, M/M, Post-Canon, post non-apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26243512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuteandillusion/pseuds/Suvroc
Summary: They’d kissed (for of course they’d kissed), and Aziraphale’s mind still spun with the gift of Crowley’s touch -- he was quite certain, or at least hopeful, that it always would.(BEACH EPISODE!)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Harrowing of Hell [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1586740
Comments: 11
Kudos: 62
Collections: Just Enough Of A Bastard to be Worth Knowing Biblically





	Make a decision, angel.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eyjayy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyjayy/gifts).



> This is a birthday gift for eyjayy! Just a little post-non-apocalypse beach fluff and nonsense inspired by your Do This In Your Style, #eyjayy1kdtiys ! (Check out the image [here](https://www.instagram.com/p/CDx8vFUF7Jz/?utm_source=ig_web_button_share_sheet)!)
> 
> I’d be remiss to not also say that this is a bit of a thank you for the attention you’ve given both me and my works in this fandom. I hope you like it, and I hope you have a most wonderful day and year to come! (Technically part of my HoH series, but can COMPLETELY be read as stand-alone. They finally get their blasted picnic!!)

“Make a decision, angel.”

Crowley looked up from the bed with an expression just this side of perturbed. Aziraphale held the two choices out in front of him and pondered.

They were trying something new, and he narrowed his eyes trying to discern any weight given to one side or the other. Usually Crowley set his request up in such a way as to draw the chooser towards his desired outcome, like some sort of infernal chess master. This had led many a human to think they were exercising their own free will when really, they were bowing to the expert ministrations of a master of his trade. 

This time, however, he was telling Aziraphale to choose, flat out. No tricks. No indications. It did feel odd, he thought, looking back and forth between the objects in his hands, but he knew it would be for the best.

-

They had rented a seaside cabin, on a secluded beachfront property, just for the weekend, and had arrived rather late the night before. The warm, sandy, salty air had billowed in off the ocean, rustling the leaves and carrying with it a wide-open, hopeful feel as they unloaded their few things from the Bentley. After tucking their luggage away and setting a few foodstuffs to chill in the fridge, they had walked, hand in hand, to the shoreline.

It had been a beautiful late summer night, heat shimmering from the Earth to hit the cooler air of late evening. Not yet a chill, for that would come soon enough, but holding just a hint, a taste, of fall.

The sky had been clear, but the stars were dim. The fat-to-almost-fullness moon slid lazily across the satiny blackness. The sound of the ocean was an intoxicating one, a rival to any vintage, and they both stood with reverence at the rise and the fall of the waves. 

They’d kissed (for of course they’d kissed), and Aziraphale’s mind still spun with the gift of Crowley’s touch -- he was quite certain, or at least hopeful, that it always would. To gasp at the touch of his lips as they grazed the side of his neck, to moan and tilt at the smooth traverse of his hand as it wrapped around his waist to pull him closer. To watch his own worn hands be allowed admittance to the red waterfall that was Crowley’s tumbling locks. (And, oh, he adored his hair long!) Aziraphale’s finely trimmed nails found their way to his scalp, rubbing fingertips to lightly massage the surface of him, tracing fine symbols as an act of protection they both did often with barely a thought. Crowley’s eyes were half closed as he drew his head around and brought their lips together, touching just the tip of his tongue to his lip, a glisten of wetness before they pressed together, then apart.

Not a word had been said since they had walked to the shore.

The moon reflected in the rippling surface of the water, a silver pool in the inkspill of ocean. A circle of pure reflected magic. He felt as if they were the only ones in the universe. And he felt that they were nothing but the universe itself.

-

And now, the morning had come. 

There was relaxation to be had, yes, but also work to attend to. Aziraphale took a steadying breath and looked to his right. On literally the one hand, if he chose their regular route, he knew he would feel a certain comfort of being in a space he recognized. However, that same space brought back a lot of memories he cared not to recall.

On the other, was something new. Something different. Something he had not tried before and was not sure he was keen to. 

He looked again towards where the snake sat, in his very snaky fashion, as the dawn light began to crawl across the bedspread. He knew he was searching for any sort of help, but that too, was part of the process. Crowley needed practice on not being manipulative, and Aziraphale needed to learn to be direct in asking for what he wanted. Draped as he was over the edge of the bed, eyes very golden and unhidden by the shades he’d tossed casually aside as they’d entered the rental, hair ever so long since he’d been growing it out post-non-Armageddon, he really was a picture. He leaned back onto his elbows and waited. Did that mean he wanted Aziraphale to choose the standard route? Or did the slight tilt of his head and raised brows mean quite the opposite. 

It was a very hard look to read.

“Fine!” Aziraphale declared, flapping his hands once. “I’ll wear the new one!”

“Perfect!” Crowley grinned, breaking the placid mold of his expression and gliding to his feet. He leaned in and took the unchosen object from Aziraphale’s hand. “How old is this one? It’s gotta be 1900s at best.”

Aziraphale eyed the pinstriped, full coverage bathing suit* as Crowley set is onto the bed behind him. “Oh, yes, well. 1902 I believe. Before that, there were too many buttons.” He dangled the other swimsuit from his fingertip. “You're sure you want me to wear,” he gulped, “this… little?”

Crowley’s eyes all but glowed as he writhed his body up against his angel’s. “I want to see you in it, I want people to see you in it. You’re gorgeous, you beautiful thing. Yesssss, I want you to wear even lessss, if I were being honest.” He leaned in and laid a line of kisses across his cheek until he reached his earlobe. He gave a little nibble, and Aziraphale felt a full body shiver.

“Stop, you’ll give me goose pimples!” He swatted Crowley back, making no real attempt to stop his advances. 

“Naaahhh,” Crowley gave him a peck behind the ear. “It’s not that scandalous. I know what I’m doing. It’ll fit you perfect. Get dressed, and let’s get going.”

-

Would he ever get used to it? The independence? The autonomy? 

The freedom?

He bet not.

Aziraphale sat on a low-slung deck chair, the kind that hammocked you on a colorful swath of fabric suspended between two wooden dowels, and watched the beachgoers playing in the surf. It was a quiet day and there were only a few different families, as well as some couples, and an old woman picking at shells. A small boy was being teased by his older brother for being frightened of sharks. A lovely young person was struggling to find courage to take their friend’s hand. The old woman missed her wife terribly. He scrutinized them each in turn, weighing the matter of their souls. 

Nestled in the angel’s lap beneath his idle grip was the book he’d just finished. It was a yearly treat, his read-through of The Great Gatsby, a story that begot such images of frivolity and summer extravagance, and ended with the melancholy turn of not just the season, but the end of an era, and the end of innocence. He dug his toes into the sand, reaching beneath the hard-baked crumbly top to where the substrate grew cool and wet. Such a slender volume which held a masterpiece of a novel. Such a delightful tragedy. Yet another perfect example of the power and possibility of the medium.

A warm gust of wind made the striped umbrella above his head shift, but the shade stayed where it was supposed to, the pole tucked sturdily into the ground, and the top indubitably unconsciously fashioned to never blow away, even in the rather strong ocean gusts that played off the sea. (Crowley had seen to that. It wouldn’t dare.)

Next to the chair was spread a Turkish beach blanket woven in grey and cream. Each corner had been weighted down with a rock or a shoe or piece of driftwood so as also not to be disturbed by the wind. The creature lying supine on its surface, soaking in the rays, also didn’t move. Aziraphale didn’t want to disturb the slumbering form, but still, it was getting a bit too hot, even with the breezes. And, he supposed, he should ask about the humans and their needs. And, well, he was done with his book. 

He sighed and hoisted himself from the chair. Tucked near the base of the umbrella was their picnic basket holding the remnants of their meal: deviled eggs, grapes, a selection of sandwiches, and sponge cake for dessert. The cheese and pickle sandwiches had been particularly scrumptious, not fancy by any means, but hearty and good in a very satisfying way. The basket was nearly empty, save the insulated compartment that still held some drinks. He walked over to it and chose a ginger beer from the crushed ice. With a flick of his wrist he opened it and shook the wetness of has hand over the snoozing demon that lie face-up on the blanket, baking in the sun.

Crowley howled awake.

“YEOOW whassst hwaaahttt?” He became all limbs and wriggles, hands flying to fling the ice-cold bits off his bare chest and his legs kicking out in disarray.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” said the angel. “There must have been a little sprinkle from a passing cloud. Say, I have a question for you.”

Crowley fought to get a grip. He settled his legs out in a v-shape and sat up. Aziraphale lowered himself to the blanket next to him and leaned over to give him a quick peck on the cheek. Crowley aimed his Ray-ban Clubmaster-clad eyes in his general direction and swung his arm in a curving strike to snatch the bottle away from him. He took a sip and handed it back. “WOT?”

“Mmm, did you have a nice nap?”

“You woke me to ask if my nap was nice?”

“I told you,” Aziraphale paused, gestured upwards. 

“Uhm hu, a passing sprinkle. Right.”

“Yes well,” Aziraphale folded his ample legs to the side for a little more comfort and leaned forward, braced on one arm. “I was just watching the, well, the bathers over there, and I am sorry to say I cannot for the life of me remember where we left off?”

“Oh Jehoshaphat.” Crowley fell back flat, spread eagle on the blanket. “You know it doesn’t matter. Go on, have at it! Go wild.”

“Well, which one should I do?”

Crowley lifted his head and peered out at the shoreline. “Uh, that one. The bloke in the short pants.”

“No, no,” Aziraphale shook his head and glanced off to the distance, then back. Took a steadying sip of his ginger beer. “No I mean, which one should I do? The blessing or, or, or… the other one.”

Crowley gazed levelly at him. “I told you, we’ve been through this, it doesn’t matter anymore. You need to do what your heart desires is all, whatever calls to you.” He shifted his upper body, and Aziraphale got the distinct impression he was trying to sound sure.

Aziraphale didn’t look back at the humans. He took a swig of his drink, all but finishing it. “What my heart desires?”

Crowley raised his arm and gestured in a completely unnecessary way, and his next words came out not sounding at all certain. “What were you, um, thinking of?”

Aziraphale took in the form of his demon again.

Although he had eaten his fill, he suddenly felt hungry for a second dessert.

“I actually think they are all fine. Good balance of virtues and vices as far as I can feel. Even the one in the short pants, although perhaps a quick dunking would bring his pride down a notch.” He offered the remaining swallow of his drink to Crowley, who waved it off. “No, I insist. Drink it while it’s still cold. It’s the last one.”

Crowley took it from him. “I don’t need a cold drink. I was having a fine enough time just lying here in the sun.” He squinted up at the celestial body in question, then slugged back the rest of the drink. “Ahhh. It’s getting pretty late though I guess.”

Aziraphale nodded. He glanced back out at the humans. Watched as the boy in the short pants was picked up bodily by his little brother in an astounding display of strength and tossed like a bag of breadcrumbs into the waves.

“Oh well now, look at that. Seems they’ve taken care of it.” He smiled and turned back to Crowley. “I do so like it when they figure things out on their own.”

Crowley, looking slightly more dazed under the glare of Aziraphale’s smile than he had staring directly at the sun, scrabbled himself back into a sitting position again. “So wait, what you are telling me is maybe we should head back to the beach house?”

“Possibly. That might be exactly what I am implying.”

The very corner of Crowley’s mouth quirked, and he glanced back at the picnic basket, around at the array of clothing and picnicware scattered about. “Sssssss anybody looking?” he asked quietly. 

Aziraphale had already scanned the area and slowly shook his head back and forth. 

"I think I can, erm, arrange something. You know, so we don't have to walk across the hot sand. Would you like that?"

Aziraphale whispered back, "oh, yes."

There was a snap.

The young person was startled and grabbed the hand of their friend. It was the first time they had held hands. They decided not to let go.

The family turned to look back, sure that there had been a man wearing a very fetching pair of swim trunks seated under a rainbow umbrella just a moment before, but apparently he and his lanky friend had disappeared without them noticing. 

And the old woman who was missing the time when her wife had been well enough to come with her to the seashore, gathered up the shells she had been collecting, and turned to head back home to show them to her.

**Author's Note:**

> * P.S. Historical reference -- not all of those old swimsuits were full coverage!:  
> <https://www.photohistory-sussex.co.uk/BrightonSwimmingClub.htm>


End file.
